Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?
by World's Cutest Dictator
Summary: One Shot forthe song Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High-Arctic Monkeys Takes place during His Last Vow and The Six Thatchers. "Sherlock? Do you have /any/ idea what time it is?" He hissed. It had been almost a full month since the two had last spoken. "When are you coming home? It's nearly 4 in the morning, John. It's not like you." Heroin &loneliness never aid brilliant minds


John blinked, the sound of incessant buzzing startling him awake from much needed sleep. He glanced over at the glowing alarm clock beside him, letting out an already irritated sigh through his nose. It was 3:43 in the morning. He needed to be up in two hours. Reaching over, careful not to wake his wife, he picked up his buzzing phone, squinting at the poor decision of not preparing himself for the blinding light that shone back at him. The name read "Sherlock" in bold letters. Getting up, John carefully maneuvered himself from the bed to the living room before answering. "Sherlock? Do you have _any_ idea what time it is?" He hissed. It had been almost a full month since the two had last spoken. "When are you coming home? It's nearly 4 in the morning, John. It's not like you." The voice huffed from the other end. John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sherlock. We've been over this. I don't live there anymore. I'm married. I have a baby on the way. You know this." There was a scoffing on the other again, a loud whine and the line went dead. John could only sigh once more before he returned to bed and attempted to fall back to sleep. It had gone on like this through the next day, sporadic texts that read only "John." or "I need a partner. Well, are you out tonight? SH". John had gone on to ignore this texts as he still wasn't entirely happy with the way things had cut so suddenly between he and his friend. The doctor knew that he needed to get over this petty grief and at least go check up on Sherlock, but he was a busy man now. He had a steady, tedious, and boring job and a family. He couldn't go about those dangerous, adventurous, thrilling crime cases anymore. Rubbing the need for sleep out of his eyes, John picked up his pen to finish filling out a patient's form, trying to ignore the urge to look back at those texts.

3:27 am, John awoke to the sound of buzzing on the night stand. Blinking a few times to wake himself up enough to reach over and pick it up, he checked the screen, once more forgetting to brace himself for the blinding light. "Christ…" He muttered, quickly answering the call before he could gather who it was on the ID. "I thought I saw you- walking around. You aren't- no..how could you be?" John covered his face with his free hand and shook his head. "Goodnight, Sherlock." Just as quickly as he'd answered it, John had ended the call, tossing his phone onto the nightstand and rolling over with a huff. It wasn't like Sherlock, he knew, to be calling at odd hours of the night. Sherlock didn't call. He texted. It was then John frowned, though his eyes remained closed. Could something be wrong? Sherlock only called if there was something wrong. No, no, he told himself, he's just being Sherlock and there was never really any explanations for his behaviors. And yet- "Damn it." John tossed the blankets off himself, slipping out of bed and dressing quickly. "He always does this. You know he does. And for what? What do you do, John? You go right after him." The doctor scolded himself, hands buried deep in his pockets as he stormed up the street. "Every time. Like a little puppy. You could just say 'sod it' and go back to bed, couldn't you? And yet, here you are. In the cold at nearly 4 in the bloody morning! Right to him." John stopped then, shaking his head and taking in a deep breath. "It's nearly 4 in the morning and this is what you're doing? Honestly?"

Pulling out his phone, the doctor looked down to see a number of texts, mostly fragmented sentences like the sender had been cut off. Before he would allow himself to go any further, John decided to send in a reply: "Where are you? Are you alright?" It was a long moment or two before the response. "I thought", then another, "Nothing. SH" With a loud groan of pure irritation, John turned around, storming back to his home while texting: "DO NOT CONTACT ME". He wanted to call, wanted to shout and scold at Sherlock, but he was tired and cold and wouldn't want to cause a scene to wake the neighbors.

The days of John Watson's life was full of the same thing, day in and day out, boring patients who had boring lives. But this was stable, this was important. At least, he hoped so. However, the nights had begun to fill with Sherlock. Texts beyond texts, calls over and over, but nothing really making sense. John had suspected something, of course, how could he not? He'd lived with the man for years so he'd picked up on at least a few of his mannerisms, even if he couldn't always explain them. Was it that Sherlock had taken up drinking? No, he wasn't much for that. A drink here or there, but nothing to cause concern. In their early days, Sherlock had said something, hadn't he? What was it? John sat back in his office chair, staring off into the dimness of the little examining room, trying so hard to think back to those days. They were so...exhilarating, weren't they? Nothing compared to this. But- John had to reel himself back. There were priorities to be met and chasing crimes and cases were no longer apart of those priorities. John had frowned considerably when the memory hit him. Sherlock had been digging around for something about the desk they'd shared in the flat. What was he saying? The crease in his brow his deepened. It was...no, no that couldn't. Sherlock wouldn't. That wasn't him. And yet…

John looked down to his watch. How long had he been off? A solid 15 minutes. "Christ…" Rubbing his face with his hands, John stood up to stretch, almost startled when he'd received another text from the very man he'd been trying to ignore. "Bloody hell, what now?" He grumbled to himself, picking up the phone. "I'm not finished. You're not by my side, John. SH" John rolled his eyes. "Now we're just cheesy." He shook his head and pocketed his phone, unable to shake that uneasy and unflattering possibility. "Cocaine. No. Years ago, must have heard wrong." John muttered to himself, walking down the hall of the hospital.

Little was John aware that he was right. It wasn't cocaine. It was heroin.

While John's days were filled to the brim of tediousness, Sherlock's was filled will disorientation and cravings. Where has John gone? Home. Not 221B Baker St., but home where he had a new life that didn't necessarily need Sherlock in it. When was the last time he'd been to 221B Baker St. himself? Sherlock wasn't even entirely sure what day it was. Who did he call last night? Who did he text? In his few moments of clarity, Sherlock had gone through his phone, noting that the only person he'd contacted so repetitively was John. The response that had caught his eye seared into his heart and stung, a strange feeling that. "DO NOT CONTACT ME" it had said. Sherlock had set his phone down. Where was he? Glancing around all he could really gather was that it was some kind of drug house, where, he wasn't entirely sure nor did he entirely care. Sherlock had not really kept hope in himself to stay clean. He didn't have John, so really, what was the point. He only solved cases in substitute for- all this and now sat, dirty and feeling the wave of withdrawl hit him under the guise of being "under cover". Why was he undercover again? Oh- yes, Magnussen. But, what did it really matter? He didn't have John with him, it wouldn't nearly be as interesting or as worth it this time around.

Sherlock bit into his lip, chapped and dry, and dug into his pocket. Yes, he had more. He had enough for now. The detective had pushed himself up and off the dirty, littered floor of the drug house, wobbling his way into the nearest bathroom. Loosely termed. The broken and aged mirror caught his reflection before he could seat himself on what was left of the bathtub. God, was that really what he looked like? It'd been an age since he'd last looked at himself, really looked at himself. It was such a drastic difference. His time with John, he'd been so much healthier. Yet, here he stood looking so- derelict. Did it matter? Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers moving before his drug starved mind could catch them, and texted John. "I can't see you here. Where am I? SH" For some reason, for some strange and unsure reason, Sherlock thought that if anyone could tell him the obvious, the simplest of answers, it was John.

But there was no reply because John had shut off his phone. Hands shaking, Sherlock couldn't really keep himself waiting and so he sat, sliding against the grimy tiled wall of the doorless bathroom and shot up. It was so much better, so sweet, so warm, so...

The detective slumped and slid onto the floor, mindlessly savoring the high he so desperately ached to substitute.

Sherlock gasped a moment and blinked. What time was it? Late. He felt light headed and thirsty, but it didn't really matter to him. He pushed himself up from the floor, using the wall to steady himself as he wandered out of the broken down home, pulling his too-big jacket around his too-thin body. It was cold out, how he missed his coat. How he missed John. Aimless and careless, Sherlock walked the streets of London, keeping his eye out for something he wasn't sure what. And- was that it? Was it- John? Sherlock stopped in his tracks, hands in his pockets and blinked, still coming down from his high. No. it wasn't.

"I was just dreaming of bumping into you. SH" John picked up his phone to respond to an email from colleague when the text had popped up on the screen. He set his jaw because he had so much wanted to respond. How could he not? Sherlock was missing him, wasn't he? But John was just so afraid that he was right and he wasn't sure how he could handle it. He could still only hardly wrap his mind around it because he wouldn't allow himself to. "Got to be up in the morning. Gonna have an early night. JW" and with that, he set his phone aside, forgetting about the email he'd meant to send. "John? Is everything alright?" Mary had asked, looking over to her husband next to her in bed. "Hm? Oh, yes. Yes, sorry. Just a long day." He smiled with a curt nod. Mary smiled in return and kissed his cheek. "Then perhaps you ought to get to bed, yeah?" John gave another nod and returned the gesture, sliding down into his side of the bed, leaving his wife to read before she tucked in as well. Why was he doing this? Why wasn't he running to Sherlock like he always did? Why- John bit into his cheek and clenched the blankets. Because. He wasn't a dog like everyone so kindly compared him to. He wasn't a puppy to trot around behind Sherlock. He had more will than that.

Yet, it seemed Sherlock was the only one who could twist that.

* * *

"God! Sherlock!" John had shouted once everyone had left the flat. Sherlock had slumped once again into his chair, slouching. "I was under cover!" He called out again. "Under cover? _Under cover_? Sherlock Holmes- I swear to God I just-!" John was furious still. He was furious when he found him in that drug house, furious when he found Sherlock was positive, and he was furious now. "Why'd you only call me when you're high, Sherlock? You've gone around this whole bloody time! All these bloody obscure messages! And you're _BLOODY FUCKING HIGH THE WHOLE GOD DAMNED TIME!_ " Sherlock couldn't seem to raise his eyes to John, his long fingers curling into the arm of the chair. "Why did you only phone me when you were high? Why Sherlock?" It was then that Sherlock shot up, ready to shout back, but John wasn't finished. "No! Shut up! You never bloody listen, do you? DO YOU?" The doctor had turned and begun to pace around, rubbing his face. "You're always like this! You never seem to have any consideration for literally anyone else! You had all the time in the world! And yet, what do you do, Sherlock? What do you decide to do? You cut me off! You cut me off and go and get high! High! Lord." John covered his face again and screamed into his palms.

"Why! Why then, at your least coherent, at your least considerate, would you decide to contact me? It's harder and harder to get you listen! You're absolutely incapable of making good decisions and you only seem to have bad ideas, Sherlock!" Before John could manage another anger filled word, Sherlock had jumped in. "Because I was jealous!" He screamed. This stopped John, causing his head to lift unsurely and his eyes land on the lithe man before him. "I was jealous! You'd gone off, married some woman who'd taken you away from me into some other life, of which I couldn't be happier for you, but you-!" He took a breath, finding his words, not wanting to allow so much emotion spill out. Caring was not an advantage. And yet, there he was. "You'd just- started up a new life! You weren't here any more! Why else did you think I moved the chair? I couldn't sit there and look at it empty every day!" John held back a growl, "Then why don't you go about solving a case or something! It's all you ever bloody do! Aside from this!"

"When I was with you! It's- I solved cases as an alternative to getting high! I solved the ones that were interesting to me because I factored you into them! You- damn it John!- you were my new drug! You! The cases, the thrill that I had you there with me with every one of them, John!" The doctor closed his mouth and let his eyes fall away. The words had sunk in and he wasn't sure what to say. "And now...you're married. You're married and you're not available. Don't you miss it, John? Don't you miss me? Why...I-..." Sherlock placed his hands on his hips, turning around in his place as he tried to catch his breath. "It's not the same without you. It's not the same on my own or with Molly or anyone. It's not the same. I can't...I don't want to do it on my own. I need you there and...I was out of my mind when I texted you, when I called you. I wasn't able to restrict myself!"

"Sherlock…"  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I told myself I was undercover, but I needed an excuse that just seemed to come in handy at the time!"

"Sherlock…"

"And when I-"  
"Sherlock, for God's sake, shut up!" John shouted. Sherlock closed his mouth, venturing to look up at John. "You're jealous...of…" He gave a nod, rubbing his cheek with the pads of his fingers. "Well, then, you ought to know, I'm not exactly having the time of my life, either. It's….so bloody tedious and I don't know how much more I can handle it. I...I've ah-" John swallowed, shaking his head. It was always so hard for him to say the things that lay on his heart. " I've missed you, Sherlock and...I don't-...I wanted to see you. To...talk to you. And then all those...messages I just wasn't sure what had gone on with you. I didn't want to think of you as...What you're doing. When you texted me..that you'd been dreaming of just- just bumping into me, it hit me, Sherlock. But I didn't...I wanted to be strong, but when it comes to you, for Christ's sake, I can't seem to stand my ground. I don't know what it is about you, but it's always, only you. I just can't keep my ground with you and I'll- fine, I'll admit it, I enjoy getting swept up sometimes. But...I can't and there you are. Telling me all this. How much longer can I go on without it? Without you? I'll tell you, Sherlock, not, not much longer. That's that, then. It is what it is."

There was silence for a long time, but it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as one would think. "Look. You've...had a day. Why don't you...go on. Take a bath. I'll be right here and...and we'll have chat after that. Yeah?" Sherlock glanced around before letting his eyes land on John and nodded. "Thank you..John, thank you." The former soldier gave a curt nod. "Anything for you, Sherlock." He sat himself down at the desk, watching the detective make his way to the bathroom and closed his eyes, covering his face. For a few moments, John had sat there, trying to recollect himself. There was so much he and Sherlock needed to talk about.

However, the silence was broken when the door to Sherlock's bedroom door had opened. "Jenine?"

* * *

Hello guys! I don't usually like leaving notes at the end, but I just wanted to throw out there, if you would like this to be continued, let me know. It's a one shot, but it could be developed if you all wished!

Thanks!


End file.
